


After Winter

by LostMyWit



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Allies To Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon, Civil War, F/M, In more ways than one, Jon Snow is Rickon’s Regeant, Politics, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Rickon Lives, Slow Burn, Uneasy Allies, Warg Jon Snow, Warging, jon snow is not king in the north, trial by battle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostMyWit/pseuds/LostMyWit
Summary: Winter has come.As the snow begins to melt, the seven kingdoms find themselves on the verge of being seven kingdoms once more. Willas Tryell, lord of Highgarden, summons the leaders of the survivors to determine the fate of the realm.As Jon Snow leads the people of the North down below the Neck to re-establish their place in the world, Arianne Martell leads a recently reunited Dorne north to carve out a world in which it can remain unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. An alliance is formed on the basis of mutual need, but it soon becomes impossible for each to resist the other.





	1. The Hellcrow, Arianne I

**Arianne**

The Northerners arrived last. They had traveled the longest, down the old Kings Road, through the barrows and hills and bogs before crossing the Neck. They were a mixed and ragged host. For near a decade, they had been buried under Winterfell, waiting out the cold, praying their stores would keep them fed. In the host, Wildlings, Black Brothers, and the people of the old lords rode side by side. The winds of winter, it seemed, had erased the old ties and rivalries. It had been clear to all that the North would have to survive together, or not at all.

At the head of the column rode the leaders, wildlings in skins, lords from old houses in trimmed furs that had long since lost their luster, even a slew of knights that had looked to have once served King Stannis Baratheon. And at the head of them all rode a man, no longer young but still not old, clad in the black of the Night’s Watch, the skins of the free folk, and the unmistakable long, cold face of a Stark.

He was half a legend now, even south of the Neck. A man of firm words and swift action, straight as a spear in his saddle, long-limbed for his middling height, and solemn. He was clean-shaven, his hair in a heavy braid touched with hoarfrost. What blacks he still wore were so faded they were almost grays. The skin had been burned on the hand that held the reins, and his cheek was marred with a long scar. He was a bastard, all knew, but it would never be questioned that he was a Stark’s bastard.

Jon Snow had fought tooth and nail to hold the kingdom of his late father and brother together. When winter had come, the North had been fractured. Stannis Baratheon and Roose Bolton had ground away at each other, drawing out a terrible war that had claimed many lives. The cold had killed even more. The way all the merchants told it, it was Jon Snow who had forced them to see sense. He had led some three hundred wildlings and Watchmen, the only ones left, to Winterfell, the only castle in the North that could see them through a winter as long as the one to come, and made his preparations. He visited every lord left in the North, and most of the holdfast. He brought them back, pooling what little food they had left and hunkering down under the old castle, occasionally acquiring food that had been shipped up to White harbor, but often resorting to foraging out in the frozen waste the North had become.

They were the largest of parties from the largest of kingdoms, but they were few, and they knew it. They came to the table from weak ground, and would have to fight hard for everything they would need. They would be in need of an ally.

  
Arianne watched them arrive, mounted on her horse besides Ser Garlan Tyrell. Lord Willas’s lame leg prevented him from greeting this last delegation in person. By Arianne’s side was Areo Hotah, the captain of her guard, and a slew of lordings and knights that had come from the other kingdoms. Most of the leaders who would sit and speak at the great council were not there that evening.

But Arianne was curious. She had little knowledge of the North, and less of Jon Snow. She knew him to be a bastard of the late Lord Eddard Stark, whose honor was still praised, near a decade and a half since his death. But beyond that, he was a mystery to most. A few had vague recollections of word that a young bastard had become lord commander of the Night’s Watch, but winter had ended the exchange of most news between North and south. Until now.

Arianne knew more than most, but that was still not much. Her cousin Sarella had brought a crow and a wildling girl back from Oldtown, a crow that happened to have been Lord Snow’s closest friend before he came south. Sam Tarly, now Maester Samwell, had told her of the lord commander, but the two had not seen each other in near ten years, since autumn. Sam had spoken of how his friend had changed in his final days before leaving the wall, of the cold man that the boy had become. If a few weeks had led to such a change, what would a winter do?

If the stories were true, much and more. Even in Dorne, tales had trickled down. In these stories, he had other names besides Lord Snow. In these stories, he was called the Black Bastard, the White Wolf. Hellcrow. It was said he had fought off a thousand wildlings himself, that he had bested half a dozen lords at arms to unite the North, that he had killed the Bolton Bastard who burned Winterfell in single combat. That he had come back from the dead.

 _He does not look dead_ , she thought. _Perhaps a bit stiff_. He road tall in his saddle, straight backed and still. It struck her, not as the arrogance of a lord, but as the purpose of a soldier. He was of medium height and build, thin but corded with muscles. His long face was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag. She knew he could not be older than thirty or so, but she would have never guessed it by looking at him. From the gray in his hair and lines around his eyes, she would have placed him at nearer to fifty.

To the rest of the realm, this man and his host were an unknown factor. He would be pounced on by the other lords. His position at the table would be weak from the start. But, then again, so was Arianne’s. She had only just reconciled her people after a vicious civil war, and, perhaps worse, was a woman besides. She and this Jon Snow would be looked at with disdain by the rest of the great council. They both needed allies. And Arianne was willing to do much and more to ensure that Dorne remained unbowed, unbent, and unbroken.

Ser Garland rode out to greet Snow as he approached. The men dismounted and shook hands, each flanked by companions. Ser Garland had his sister, Lady Margaery, and his brother Loras, who was called the Knight of Thorns. Arianne had grown fond of Margaery. She was the mind behind many of her brother’s machinations, and clever woman to chat with, besides. Their brother kept his helm on, watching the Northerners through the slits, hands fingering the hilt of his long sword. Each was observing, learning.

Behind Jon Snow was a short, broad man with a great belly and wild white beard, a slender man, whose gray hair was streaked with brown, wearing a black cloak slashed with red silk, and a tall woman with sharp features and hair the color of honey. Their clothes of skins and crude, rune covered jewelry marked them as wildlings. A young woman with a face marred by greyscale, and an older one in scale armor with short brown hair also rode with him. Unless Arianne was mistaken, these were the daughters of dead kings.

“Lord Snow, we welcome you to our great council,” Ser Garland greeted. “I hope the journey was not too difficult?”

Snow gave a small, bitter smile. “Not too difficult, my lord. We got here, didn’t we?”

Arianne smiled in spite of herself. It would seem as if he had some sense of humor, albeit a grim one. That was good. Arianne had found she disliked men that took themselves too seriously. They often thought overmuch of themselves.

Ser Garland smiled as well. “If my lord wishes, quarters could be prepared for you and your companions. Most of the other lords have taken up residents in a keep on the shore of the God’s Eye.”

“I’m afraid I must decline,” Snow said, with more courtesy than Arianne would have suspected of a man of the Night’s Watch. “I wish to remain with mine own host.”

Ser Garland nodded. “If that is my lord’s wish. Now that you are here, the council may begin. The lords shall assemble in the keep on the morrow. Now that you have arrived, we may begin to set things to right.”

Ser Garland and Jon Snow mounted their horses, Tyrell back to his host, the Hellcrow to his. The other lords turned and left with Ser Garland, but Arianne remained. She wished to know more about this man.

“Lord Commander!” She called out as her horse trotted after him, Areo Hotah behind like a shadow.

Snow turned towards her, and she saw his eyes up close for the first time. They were grey eyes, cold grey eyes that missed nothing and gave away less. They cut into her like an icy wind. Then, after a moment, they softened, and Arianne thought she saw a flicker of warmth in them.

Jon Snow turned his horse about to meet her. “Who are you, my lady?” he asked, not unkindly.

“I am Arianne Nymeros Martell, Princess of Sunspear and ruler of Dorne. This is Areo Hotah, captain of my guard. I would speak with you, if you would have me.”

Jon Snow looked taken aback, and glanced at one of this companions, the man with the red slashed cloak, who shrugged. He looked back to her. “If you wish, your highness, you may join us,” Snow said. “May I ask why?”

“I have little knowledge of the North or its people, but some knowledge might prove useful in the days to come.” Arianne told him.

Jon Snow nodded. “I was once advised that knowledge was a weapon, and I should arm myself with it before riding off to battle. Perhaps you could tell us some things of the South as well?”

“If you would wish, Lord Snow.” Arianne shivered and drew her cloak closer around her. Even though winter had passed, the weather was still colder than she had ever known it to be in Dorne. “Is there someplace warm we may converse, my lord? And I would be much obliged if you introduced your companions.”

Jon Snow regarded her for long moment, the spoke again. “They should be putting up my tent as we speak, highness. As for my companions,” he gestured to the three she took for wildlings, “this is Tormund Giantsbane, whose titles are too numerous to list.” The man with the white beard gave a huff, but a look from Snow silenced him. “Beside him is Mance Rayder, who was King-Beyond-the-Wall, and Val, who was sister to his wife. They speak for the Free Folk.” The man with the red slashed cloak and the woman with honey hold hair nodded at her. “Princess Shireen Baratheon and Asha Greyjoy ride with us also.”

“And who are you, Lord Snow, to be in such illustrious company?” She asked him.

“Merely a man of the Night’s Watch, trying to do what’s best for the North,” he answered.

Arianne was not convinced. “I had always heard the Starks ruled the North. Are there truly none left?”

Snow’s gaze suddenly became ice again, and for moment she feared she had acted too rash, but he seemed to regain his composer after an instant. “They are not all gone, your highness,” he said in clipped tones. “Eddard Stark’s youngest child, Rickon, survived. He is with us, back at the tents. It was the choice of him and of the lords that I rule the North in his name until he comes of age. That time is coming soon, and if the gods are good, this council will be my last act as regent.”

“You are a rare man to give up such power, my lord.”

“The power should have never been mine.”

The sounds of people and animals drew Arianne’s attention away from Snow. They had reached the camp. Here and there she saw banners that she vaugley remembered to be of various Northern Houses, but there were not near as many as in the other hosts. The Stark’s dire wolf, white on black, flew over one of the larger tents. Just below was a banner she had never seen before: a crow, red and black on a field of white. It was not hard, though, to guess what it was.

As they neared the tent, Snow dismounted and handed the reins of to young boy who was waiting for them. Snow thanked him and ruffled his hair foundly as he led the horse away. Two men, one in ring mail and a black cloak, the other in furs and bronze scales, guarded the entrance. They had a fierce, gaunt look to them, and they eyed Arianne and Areo with suspicion, even after Snow bid them entry.

Snow’s companions left them, off to set up their own camps, she assumed. Inside the tent were a young man with red-brown hair and a thin woman. They were sitting around a small cooking fire, preparing a hare.

“Princess Arianne, this is Rickon Stark, heir to Winterfell, and his complain, Osha.” Snow introduced them. Arianne nodded politely. The boy, Rickon, looked at her skeptically, but he rose none the less to greet her.

“I am Ricken of House Stark,” he said haltingly. “It is… an honor to make… your acquaintance.”

Snow and Osha exchanged a glance.

“My lord,” Snow said, “Perhaps you could go to Princess Shireen and Lord Davos, to make sure they are settled comfortably.”

The Stark boy nodded and quickly left. Osha followed, stopping to exchange a few whispers with Lord Snow before exiting.

“Apologies for the lack of comfort, your highness,” he said as he dragged a bench closer to the fire and began to work on the hare that had been left behind.

“You needn’t bother yourself, my lord.” Arianne took a seat next to him. Areo remained standing. “May we begin our discussion now?”

Snow nodded. “What do you wish to know? Just know, I will expect you to answer each question for yourself.”

“Of course, my lord.” He was a shrewd one it seemed. “How many are in your party?”

“Two thousand, or near enough to make no difference.” He finished skinning the hare and set it on a spit over the fire. “And you? What strength have you brought?”

“I came north with some five hundred spears.” She watched him closely, but his face betrayed none of the thoughts beneath it. “What are your intentions at this council?”

“Find some way to open trade with the south, arrange for food to be brought up, perhaps arrange an alliance or two. Yourself?”

“Much of the same,” she admitted. “I wish to insure that Dorne will not be prayed upon. We were divided until very recently. I came with the hope of finding who I should expect to try and oust me, and who I can depend on to stop it.”

Jon Snow nodded slowly. “Have you any knowledge of how this council will occur?”

“I assume there will debates over how best to move forward. Boundaries and concessions, perhaps marriages, will be agreed upon. The future of the realm will be determined.”

“The furture masters of the realm,” Snow added. “Has there be any discussion of the Iron Throne?” He asked.

“Some. Myrcella Baratheon is expected to put forth a claim, as are the Tyrells, but through who no one seems to know. Of course, Kings Landing itself is currently held by some up-jumped sellsword that carved himself out a tidy little kingdom after the dragons burned and froze, so claim may mean naught.”

“And if Shireen Baratheon were to make a claim?” Snow asked. “She is King Stannis’s heir, and the throne is hers by rights.”

Arianne considered. “The Stormlords might follow her, they have little love for the Lannisters. I confess, I have idea as what the Riverlands or the Vale will do.”

Snow did not speak for a moment, and simply kept turning the hare on the spit. “You spoke earlier of alliances,” he eventually said. “What kind?”

“A voice to support mine at the council,” She answered. “One who might could provide marshall assistance should the talks go sour. One that I know will not sew chaos into to Dorne to undermine my rule.” She looked at him and held his gaze. “I imagine you will need someone to do much of the same, yes, Lord Snow?”

His grey eyes sent chills down her spine, but she did not look away. Finally, a small smile crept across his mouth. “Would you like any type of formal agreement, your highness?”

“That won’t be necessary, Lord Snow, I feel your word will be sufficient for now, if you would take the same from me.” She rose from the bench and brushed herself off. “I must depart now, my lord, my companions will be missing me. I thank you for your hospitality.”

Snow rose to see her out. “Of course, your highness. Any time. Perhaps next time, you will be able to sup with us.”

When their horses were returned, Areo Hotah asked his princess a question. “You did not mention the Maester that Sarella found. Why?”

“All in good time captain. What do you make of the Hellcrow?” She asked the old captain.

He shrugged. “Thus far? A cold, cautious man, with little offer us it seems. Not someone worth sacrificing much to bring over to our side, princess.”

“But it will not take much to bring over to us, and we will need every voice we can get,” she reminded him. “Besides, perhaps he will be able to make an alience with the Stormlord through Shireen, maybe even keep her from putting forth a claim to the throne, making way for Myrcella. And after all, a man who survived a ten year winter and kept _this_ host together must have some skill, not to mention the two thousand he claims to command. This host my be ragged, but they have strength. Even the women look like warriors. If they have any sense of how to organize themselves in battle, they would a formidable force.”

Aero gave her a small smile. “My little princess is starting to sound like a true general.”

“One does not win a civil war without learning a few things.” She grinned back. “Now come, or they may send someone after us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the longer projects I mentioned to Wolfspawn21 in a comment conversation. First time writing cannon compliant. Sorta. This will hopefully be my longest work yet, and most resemble the source material. Probably will be one POV per chapter, but maybe not,for shorter ones. 
> 
> Comments, criticism, and feedback of all kinds always welcome! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Check out my tumblr, LostMyWit, for visual aids to this story and others!


	2. The Hellcrow, Part Two, Jon I, Arianne II

Jon I

He watched the old direwolf enter the tent. Ghost came over and rested his head on Jon’s leg, and he scratched his ears. Age had taken most of the power from him, and Jon vaguely wondered which of his children would be the best to fill his place. Ghost had sired a litter on a wild direwolf from north of the wall, and the pups were quickly finding partners.

The strongest pup, Ice, an albino like her sire, had attached herself to Monster. Alys and Sigorn’s boy, Ned, had a mean grey one called Arrow, and Rickon and Shireen had jointly taken in a sweet pup that they had named Stormy. Jon did not feel it would be right to take any of those wolves for his own.

He looked down at the old wolf. He was still strong. He still had a few fierce years left. Jon would find a new wolf then. For now, Ghost would do.

He briefly allowed his thoughts to wander, and they settled, strangely, on Princess Arianne Martell. The way she had staunchly held his gaze, with her dark eyes that shined with a light all their own. The women of the North had a hardness, a fierceness to them. It was required of them to survive, and in Arianne he had seen something of the same nature, but not quite. There was a sharpness to her, an edge, yet a sweet softness, and he found himself wishing he had asked her to stay longer.

“Lord Snow?”

Jon raised his gaze to Monster, poking his head in. The boy had been given the true name of Osric, but Jon still called him by the name Val had given him as she weaned him.

“They are here, sir.”

Jon nodded. “Show them in.”

Tormund entered first, then Mance and Val. Then came Asha and Middle Liddle, and Shireen with Davos. Rickon and Osha followed, then finally Alys and Sigorn Thenn. Save Emmett and Grenn, it was all of his lieutenants. They seated themselves on benches around the fire.

Jon felt a reassurance as they began to take their places. He trusted each of them, and they had rewarded his trust with better support than he could have ever hoped for. Tormund and Val spoke for the greater wildling contingent of his host, and Mace had been invaluable. Asha had brought a few of the surviving Ironborn under into their group, and her marriage to Morgan Liddle had done much to ease over the tensions. Liddle, who was now effectively the leader of the mountain clans under him, had also proven reliable. Ser Davos and Shireen had brought the knights of the late King Stannis, and essential in enlisting the aid of White Harbour, and of course bringing Rickon and Osha home. Alys and Sigorn, with their young son, had been a model of corporation between old foes.

He allowed himself a small smile as he went over his assembled followers. He couldn’t have asked for better.

“All of you set up your camps without issue, yes?” Jon asked when they had all settled.

A chorus of murmured agreements. Jon nodded. “Monster, bring us a skin of mead, one of the better ones.”

“What did the southron woman want?” Asha asked.

“She offered friendship,” Jon answered. “She wants a voice at the table to support hers.”

“What does she offer?”

“The same.”

“Dorne is far,” Mance said. “We could offer little help, and expect less.”

“But we need allies at the table,” Jon argued. “Princess Arianne knows Southron politics better than us, we could use her support. We come to this council friendless. She is already establishing ties with Lady Tyrell-”.

“And the Lannisters,” Davos added.

All eyes turned to Onion Knight.

“Explain,” Jon told him.

“Before winter, Myrcella was betrothed to Trystane Martell, even fostered at Sunspear. She is now the lady of Casterly Rock.”

Jon frowned. “Betrothed? Have they wed?”

Davos shrugged. “I know not.”

Jon grunted. “Find out. In fact, find out everything we missed during the winter.” He gave a small smile as he scratched Ghost behind the ear.. “It would not do to come to court without knowing all the choicest gossip.”

A smattering of nods and agreements. Monster returned with the skin and they began passing it around

“How are we to go about such?” Mance asked, after a swig of mead. “We can only gather so much in one night.”

“Find some of our men that are from the south,” Jon suggested. “Send them into the local inns to listen, and have them report back before morning. If possible, we’ll meet with Princess Martell before the council, and get as much as we can.”

Asha snorted. “Council,” she said disdainfully. “This is a kingsmoot, make no mistake.”

Jon smiled at her. “And how would we win, if this were a true kingsmoot?”

Asha shrugged. “Be prepared to bribe or threaten anyone with a better claim to power and make grand promises to the masses, but we have no desire to take the Iron Throne, only to have the help of whoever does.”

Jon sighed. “I suppose we shall need to makes as many allies as we can, then.” He looked at each face in turn. “Who of you wishes to come with me tomorrow?”

Davos raised a hand. So did Val and Asha.

Jon looked to Mance. “I would like you there as well.”

The older man nodded. “I would be honored.”

“Lord Snow?”

All eyes turned to Shireen Baratheon, sitting beside Davos.

“I wish to come with you as well,” she said.

There was a nervous exchange of glances, but Jon smiled. Shireen was not yet twenty, but she was wise and diligent. She had her father’s sense, but not his stubbornness, and Jon was glad for it. Someday, soon, he hoped, she would be great leader and governor. It would be good for her to come.

“So be it,” he said. “We have our delegation. We will depart for the castle at first light.”

Morgan Liddle raised a hand. “Forgive me, Lord Snow, but what are we planning to do?”

Jon smiled bitterly. “I wish I could give you a better answer, but I don’t know. This kind of council is unprecedented. At the very least, I want to ensure that food be shipped North. I do not know who all means to claim the Iron Throne, but we can bet Myrcella Lannister and Margaery Tyrell will make claims through Tommen.”

“And who would we support?” Mance asked.

“If can manage, both and neither,” Jon answered. “If Shireen wishes, and enough support can be found, perhaps she could make a claim, but that would not win us allies. At present, I do not know which side would be a better asset to us, so I will refrain.”

Asha grunted. “If the Martell woman is with the Lannisters, she’ll insist you support Myrcella’s claim.”

“And if we do, she could have four kingdoms behind her,” Jon said. “That may be the best course. We simply need to find out more.” He looked to Mance, then Davos. “Do you have your spies in mind?”

The men nodded. “I’ll get Grenn to find some watchmen, then give the instructions myself.” Mance said.

“Good. Anything anyone wants to add?” Jon asked.

They said nothing. They all new their roles.

Jon rose, and they rose with him. “Off to your camps then.”

When they had left, Jon dismissed Monster and closed the flap to his tent.

“Ghost, guard.” It would not do for him to be disturbed.

Jon sat down, cross legged on the ground by the fire. He closed his eyes, reaching out for the bird. He found the crow perched on the flagstaff of his tent. He steeled himself as slipped on the creature’s skin.

Even after much practice, and with an animal he had been in many times, it still took a great effort. Getting inside the crow’s mind was not so hard, but bending it to his commands still proved a challenge. After a minute of so of concentration, he had full control. The crow flew off towards the direction of the other tents.

Jon flew the crow south, low enough to spy the sigils, making note of each. The Tyrells were around the castle, and the great golden rose flew from the battlement. The Stormlords and their allies from the remnants Golden Company were to the west, near a small in.

To the south, the Martells and Lannisters had camped near each other, and Jon guessed that, together, they had the largest force. That worried him.

Unbidden, the crow began to fly even lower as it approached the Martell camp, making for the largest tent. It took Jon a moment to realize he wasn’t doing it on purpose, and quickly flew back up. He let himself slip out of the crow.

He was suddenly back in his own skin, and it was like waking up from a nightmare. Ghost sensed his distress and came over to him, laying his head on his legs. Jon took a moment to recover his breath. He tried not to think about why the bird had done that. He didn’t think he would like the answer.

 

Arianne II

  
“Where were you?” Obara demanded as Arianne dismounted, Aero in tow.

Arianne rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t gone long.”

Obara just shook her head. “You need to be more careful around all these northerners. I have my doubts as to how they’ll react to a woman leading a kingdom. Where were you?”

“I was meeting a potential ally,” Arianne answered as they entered her tent. “The North has arrived.”

Obara frowned. “I thought all of the Starks were gone. Who is even left of them?”

“They’re being led by Ned Stark’s bastard, the lord commander of the Night's Watch.” Arianne took a seat on wooden chair. Obara remained standing. “His name is Jon Snow.”

“The one that Maester Sam was friends with?” Obara asked, confused. “I’d heard he died.”

Arianne shrugged. “He looked like a Stark is supposed to, and the Northerners follow him. That’s all that really matters.”

Obara regarded her questioningly. “Why would we seek an alliance with him?”

“His people are starving, and he is desperate,” Arianne explained. “If we reach him first, and promise to help him feed his people, him and host will back us.”

When Obara still didn’t look convinced, Arianne reached out and took her hand gently. “Worry not, cousin. I am always careful.”

Obara nodded. “Thank you, princess. Do I have your leave?”

Arianne smiled. “Of course. And send in Maester Samwell.”

She took a moment to think over her meeting with Lord Snow. He was different from the kind of men she normally dealt with, and she wanted a better idea of how he thought. Luckily, she had probably the only person south of the Neck that could help with that.

Maester Samwell was still a portly man, but he was not so large as he had been when he’d first came to Dorne. Her cousins and the desert had seen to that. He was still amiable, though, and sweet tempered. During the war he had served her with loyalty, and proven his wisdom. She hoped Lord Snow would understand if she was reluctant to give him back.

“Good evening, Maester,” Arianne greeted him, rising as he entered the tent. “How are Gilly and Aemon?”

The maester smiled. “They are doing well, my princess. They were helping Sarella drill the levies with the bow when I left.”

“Wonderful.” She bade him to take a seat opposite her. “Maester, and interesting development has occurred. I would very much appreciate your council.”

“Of course, my princess. What do you ask of me?”

Arianne exhaled heavily. “The Northern host has arrived. Jon Snow leads them.”

Samwell’s shock was clear on his face. “Jon Snow?” He repeated. “He’s alive?”

”It seems he is,” Arianne said. “Lord Commander Snow is acting as regent of the North, until his younger brother Rickon comes of age.” She watched the maester carefully as she spoke. “I met with him, briefly, at his camp.”

“I’d heard he died,” Samwell half whispered. “There were all these rumors, being murdered by traitors, naming himself king.” He looked at her, almost pleading. “Do you know what all has happened to him?”

Arianne shook her head sadly. “Our time together was brief. We kept mainly to matters of politics. I know only that he is alive.”

Maester Samwell nodded. “What was he like?” He asked, after a pause.

“He was cold.” Arianne eventually said. “Not in manners, he was very cordial, but… it was as if he had winter in his very bones.”

Samwell nodded sagely. “I supposed he killed the boy, then.”

“What?” Arianne gasped.

“An expression!” The maester hasilty explained. “Before we left, Maester Amond told him to kill the last of the boy within him and become the man he needed to be.” He smiled sadly. “I suppose he took the advice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is finally happening... I guess.
> 
> To all of those who have been waiting, thank you for your patience. I’ve been pressed for time recently, and I haven’t been able to write near as much as I want. Things are beginning to quiet down, so that may change soon, but no promises.
> 
> What did everyone think of the characters after ten years of winter? Any meetings anyone really wants to see? Feedback, comments, and criticism of all kinds welcome as always!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you want aesthetics and other visual aids for my stories, look up LostMyWit on Tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> Visual aid on my tumblr:
> 
> https://lostmywit.tumblr.com/post/177397126810/visual-aids-and-character-aesthetics-for-my-ao3
> 
> For moodborads, aesthetics, and visual aids to my stories, I’m on Tumblr at AriJon Extras by LostMyWit.


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